


You Can Look (But You Better Not Touch)

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John stops visiting the Roadhouse for a while. AU.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Look (But You Better Not Touch)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthquakedream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthquakedream/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Можешь смотреть (но лучше не касайся)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/933414) by [Rassda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rassda/pseuds/Rassda)



John's pretty sure it's an accident the first time. He's tired from a hunt, drinking a beer in a dark corner of the Roadhouse and watching halfheartedly as Bill and Ellen laugh it up with the regulars. The Harvelles have just celebrated their anniversary—John isn't sure which one, but it's been plenty. Enough to make him feel downright old and a little bit lonely.

He's pretty sure it's an accident, because there's nothing but worry in his gut when he catches sight of Jo—pretty, vibrant, almost-grown Jo—disappearing outside with a boy that's got one too many years on her. There's confidence in her smile and a laugh in her eyes, but John gets up and follows anyway. She might not be his blood, but the protective instincts run strong.

It's no protective instinct that catches his breath in the dark, or that cements his feet to the ground—keeps him watching in the shadows as the two have their fun. He feels something dark and invasive curling through his blood at the sight, at the breathy noises she makes. The night air is warm, sluggish and stifling, and John Winchester's got no right to be here. Heat gives way quickly to shame, and he leaves before the big finale, stomach twisting uncomfortably as he heads inside.

It happens again a matter of months later, and for a third time just two goddamn days after _that_. By Jo's twentieth birthday John realizes accident can't be an excuse anymore, and the revelation jolts him hard.

It leaves him reeling, startled and ashamed, and the only thing he can do is stay away.

So he does. Hunting with Dean, secretly checking in on Sammy—his youngest will be graduating in the spring, top of his fucking class, and John couldn't be prouder.

He comes back on a Saturday, after something like six months. It's a busy night, and he settles into the darkest corner hoping he hasn't drawn attention. The hope is short lived as he raises his eyes and finds Jo staring at him from across the room. She approaches, a taunting sway in her hips, and John averts his eyes as she draws up beside his table and sets a beer at his elbow.

"Welcome back, soldier," she says with a wry smile. "Wondered if I was ever going to see you again."

"Hey, kid," he says, because it would be rude not to respond.

"I missed you, you know," she says, and her expression falls somber with the words.

He tries not to stare, but he must fail because suddenly a different look lights her face. This one is knowing and bright and just a little bit dangerous.

She leans down and in, too close and right in his space, to whisper, "It's not the same without you watching."

John is suddenly glad he hasn't reached for the beer, since it means he doesn't have anything in his hands to fumble as he startles at her words. Her laughter is a light, easy sound as she turns her back and wanders away swinging her hips.

This time when she disappears through the back door at the end of her shift, it's alone. She throws a deliberate glance over her shoulder that locks their gazes together in hard unison. Her eyes hold invitation—heated purpose—and she wears a knowing smirk to match.

And John, God help him, stands up and follows her outside.


End file.
